Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(35)

“So this goes back to your aversion to receiving oral sex.”

“I’m not opposed to it,” I tell him, frowning. “Like I said, it feels good. It’s just . . . Hell, I don’t know what I’m trying to say here.”

He leans back, giving me time to gather my thoughts to say more. But I can’t seem to, and he picks up on it. “From what I’m hearing, Finn, you enjoy the sensation, but you’re incapable of enjoying the act.”

I nod despite the tension straining the muscles along my neck and shoulders. “Have you ever achieved orgasm from oral sex?” he asks.

“Never,” I admit. It’s then I say a lot more than I’ve ever said to anyone. “I can’t come like that. It gets me hard, and keeps me hard, but the tension it causes makes it uncomfortable.”

“Do you tell your partner as much, or ask her to stop?”

I shake my head, staring at the gray carpet that makes up his large office. “No, I just let her do it.”

“Why?” he asks. “If it’s something you’d rather not do, why do it at all?”

I lift my head, despite how I want to turn away. “Because I’m supposed to. It’s part of foreplay, expected, you know? I’m supposed to want it and enjoy it.”

“But you can’t,” he reiterates.

“No,” I admit.

“How do you achieve release?”

I raise my brows. “Is this relevant?”

His expression is relaxed yet somehow serious. “I believe it is.”

“By f*cking a woman,” I tell him point blank.

“When you say ‘by f*cking a woman’ are you doing all the work?” He holds out a hand when I cock my head. “Are you the dominant party, the one who takes control?” he explains.

“It’s consensual,” I insist. “I’ve never forced anyone.”

He smiles in that metro-sexual way of his. “I’m not accusing you of overpowering someone through sex, Finn. You’ve never given me any reason to believe it’s in your nature. But when you do have sex with a woman, is it in positions where you’re on top?”

“No,” I say slowly. “I’ve f*cked women standing up, and against the wall, on top of furniture, in the shower―you know, the usual.”

I’m not making this up, or trying to impress him. Being a top ranking MMA fighter, women are all over me. He stays calm, recognizing I’m not bragging, his demeanor split between unaffected and concern.

“Take a closer look at these positions,” he says. “You’re the one holding them. You’re the one imposing your muscle. It’s your strength and power you’re demonstrating.”

Again there’s that freight train plowing into me. Holy shit. He’s right.

“Tell me, Finn,” he says. “Have you ever achieved orgasm when the woman has been the one in control, on top of you, masturbating you, anything?”

I don’t know how long it takes me to answer, my mind digging through my memories, trying to find one that will disprove his beliefs. But I can’t. “No,” I answer.

“Then I think we’re onto something here,” he says.

I think he’s right.

“Oral sex is more complex than people realize,” he begins. “It’s perceived that men who receive it are the ones in control, because it’s about them, and how much they’re getting out of it. However, most fail to see that it’s the person giving it who’s actually in control. She’s the one capturing that man at his most vulnerable with his most masculine and susceptible organs within her grasp.”

“You’re saying I don’t like to be vulnerable,” I bite out.

He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t have to. I already know he’s right. “Is that why I don’t enjoy it like I should, I’m afraid to be vulnerable?”

“Exposing yourself in such a way―when you feel compelled to stay in control during sex― doesn’t permit the pleasure the act can bring or allow the release that can come. But why do you think that is, where does this all stem from?”

As much as he’s opened my eyes, this isn’t a question I’m prepared to answer. Not yet.

“So then why was it worse with Sal?”

He doesn’t miss how I skipped over his question, but answers me anyway. “Because I think you like her more than you were prepared to, and more than you’re allowing yourself to believe.” He waits then asks, “Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”

My mind wanders back to “bat-shit crazy Chelsea”, “I’m a psycho and I own it Nancy”, and “I’m sorry I cheated on you, but you were at the gym and I was horny Lucille”. “No. Most of the women I’ve been with longer than a handful of times end up being crazy, skanks, or both.”

“But Salveenoa isn’t like that?”

“Who―oh, yeah. No, Sal’s not like them.”

He smiles. “Then what is she like?”

Beautiful, funny, kind. Yeah, and didn’t I f*ck that all up. “She’s a nice girl,” I answer. “Smart and . . . I don’t know, she’s different is all.”

“And you like her.” He’s not really asking, more like interpreting what I’m trying to play down.